


With This Body

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-30
Updated: 2007-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a testimony to how dire the situation is that the medical team doesn't have time to properly block Rodney's view of what they're doing.  He stands a dozen feet from their focused work, his breathing awkward as he watches them cut away John's clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With This Body

It's a testimony to how dire the situation is that the medical team doesn't have time to properly block Rodney's view of what they're doing. He stands a dozen feet from their focused work, his breathing awkward as he watches them cut away John's clothes. There's blood on the floor, on the light green scrubs Nurse Yee prefers, on the gurney's disposable sheets – blood that's supposed to be carrying life and vitality from John's heart to his fingers, his thighs, his feet. "Oh," Rodney manages, fingers clasping and releasing the butt of his gun, still clipped to his tac vest, useless now. Someone's unlacing John's boots, stripping away socks, and it's the sight of John's toes – naked, vulnerable – that makes Rodney suck in a sharp, painful breath and concede _I love this man_ before he staggers back to slump against the wall.

"Rodney," Teyla murmurs, appearing by his side, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "Come away."

He shakes his head, watching Keller's hands press hard above a wound. "No."

Teyla slides her fingers beneath his elbow, tugs firmly. "We must let them work."

"I'm not in the way."

"I believe they will do better if we are not here to watch," she says kindly, and he hears what she means, that _he'll_ do better if he doesn't see what they have to do.

"Please," he says weakly.

Teyla shushes him, pulls again, and this time he goes with her, head bowed as she guides him through the infirmary to a cold, hard waiting chair. He feels Ronon's hand come to rest on his shoulder, but he barely feels the warmth, buries his face in his hands and hopes John's feet don't get cold.

*****

They fix John, just as Teyla said they would – clean his cuts and stitch his wounds, pump blood back into his veins, coax him to sleep through the worst of the pain with drugs that leave him pliant and pale. Rodney brings his tablet to John's bedside, works himself to exhaustion just to prove he's not slacking, even if he is at his teammate's side more often than he's in the lab. He's there when John drifts up toward wakefulness, when he's weaned off the drugs, when he gets bored and irritable, when he starts the inevitable self-recrimination that accompanies most missions gone wrong. When John's discharged, Rodney helps him back to his room, absorbs John's foul temper and yells back to release a little tension of his own.

"What the hell are _you_ bent out of shape about?" John asks, breathing heavily, hands on his hips. "You're not the one who got gutted like a goddamn fish. Jesus Christ, Rodney."

Rodney wants to punch John in the jaw so powerfully in that moment that he's not sure he can hold it back. But he does, face twisting with the effort, and he forces his bitterness into words instead. "Yes," he says coldly. "Because it was _such_ a vacation for me, watching you bleed out _beneath my fucking hands_."

"So what?" John spits. "You're pissed at me? You want me to, I don't know – " he gestures dismissively, " – _apologize_?"

"For _what?_ " Rodney asks, incredulous.

"Taking a bullet? Getting slashed open? You tell me! You're the one acting like I messed up your sweet sixteen."

And that's it, Rodney's had it, feels the full body slam of hoarded fear and frustration crash into him, loses his mind a little, crosses the room and grabs for John's hand. He smoothes his thumb none-too-gently across John's palm; watches, angrily, as John blinks, confused. "Thing is," Rodney says dangerously, "this is all there is. Between you and – " He swallows down the words, clenches his jaw against his fury. "You've got one goddamn body and I saw it failing, and I can't – "

John rocks back a little, as if absorbing a blow of his own. "I – "

"And _no_ , it's not your stupid, asinine fault that you got hurt, but it's not _mine_ that I can't – that it – " He closes his eyes for a second, pulls in a breath. "Anyway." He lets John's hand fall, takes a step back. When he opens his eyes, John's watching him warily.

"I didn't know," John whispers.

Rodney laughs mirthlessly. "Well neither did I, and I'm the fucking genius."

"No. I mean – I didn't . . ." John steps forward, closes the gap Rodney created, lifts his hand and wavers for a second, seems to find his resolve and touches Rodney's jaw. "Rodney."

Rodney sighs, the fight leaving him in an instant. "It's all there is," he whispers before he steps forward in spite of himself, kisses John, reassures himself of all the heat and obstinate want that makes John vital, restless, a living thing; slides his fingers beneath John's t-shirt, steals just a little warmth. "It's all there is," he repeats. "Don't . . . just don't . . ."

"I'll try," John says, and his voice is shaking, and Rodney almost wants to ask why. But this is John beneath his hands, not bleeding anymore, and he supposes there aren't words enough in the world for John to find the handful he needs to say something plainly when he can show someone instead. So he falls to the bed when John nudges him, grateful, gathers John in and learns his body as it strains toward living instead of fading toward death.

*****

They sleep chest pressed to chest, sweat prickling intimately at belly and thigh. When Rodney wakes, it's dark and John's eyelids are flickering as he soars through dreams. "Idiot," Rodney whispers, because it's the best he can manage to say out loud, and he glances down the bed, sees John's toes peeking out from beneath their rumpled green blanket. "I ask you," he adds irritably and leans to twitch the blanket back into place.

John's smiling when Rodney lies back down beside him. "Thank you," he murmurs, and twists their fingers together, hand to hand.


End file.
